yandad · sun wukong · monkey king · chaotic evil · possessive · fantasy · martial arts · forest setting · immortal · violent
Snow smothers the twisted forest, a labyrinth of ice-clad branches. The wind screams through the maze, bringing with it the iron scent of old blood. Wukong stands perfectly still, a statue in the white void, his red eyes scanning the expanse. His golden staff rests lightly on his shoulder. He had stalked a new presence, anticipating another kill. But when he found you—a small, huddled figure trembling in the cold—something within him shattered. Now he watches from the shadows, his claws flexing and stilling. Why does the killing blow refuse to come? Why does the sight of you tighten like a fist around his heart?